The Invasion
by AllenLW
Summary: Life is not a story. There is no 'happily ever after' no heroes, no brave, skilled main character. people die, people get hurt, and they make mistakes. In times of war and despair, when all seems lost, many look for a hero, someone to lead them, to drive away the 'evil' and restore 'good'. Perhaps that hero will come, I do not know.


A.N 35350 Redne 27

_The ground trembles with the drumming of a thousand feet, and the air is pierced with the cries of the wounded and dying. With a protesting shriek, the castle doors fall under the relentless attack. Even the strongest golem goes under the seemingly never-ending flood of the undead. The anguished cries of the prisoners mingle with the triumphant roar of the undead in the bloodstained dawn. The Undead Covenant has won yet another battle._

_The Undead Covenant, a nation made by the undead mobs, have been at war with the Grand Union, the nation of villagers, golems, and wolves for the past five years, yet neither side shows signs of yielding. However, The Undead Covenant, with it's numeric superiority, is winning. Slowly but surely, the Grand Union is losing ground... and the war._

-Undead Covenant West Camp-

A group of silverfish ran into the pavilion, heading straight for the General's tent. The guard jerked up, nearly dropping his ax as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"General! The silverfish messengers have returned!"

"Good, bring them in."

The leader of the scouts walked in and knelt in front of the General, holding out the scroll.

"Sir, squad E42 found a Union stronghold in the western hills. They are requesting 10 wither squads and 200 zombie units."

The General stared at the man with a look of disdain

"That's 440 extra soldiers, including ten withers. Surly they can manage with less men."

The man was now starting to reconsider his choice of delivering the message. Perhaps battle was the more favorable option than displeasing the General. It certainly seemed that way. He remembered the stores about the General, saying that he had a habit of pulling the nails out of people who displeased him. He had laughed it off, but now, with the said man looming above him, it seemed quite plausible that the General could, in fact, have his nails removed, probably in a quite painful way.

"Sir, the stronghold is... different. It's made of obsidian, and not only was there no entrance to the stronghold, it was completely sealed. Not even a ventilation shaft. That means we need to break in, and the withers are the only ones strong enough to destroy obsidian. Also sir, we have scouted the area and haven't found any sign of movement. The Commander is uneasy and wants backup, just in case."

"Hmm.. I will consider this. Dismissed."

-Grand Union Capital-

The king sighed as he consulted the latest reports. The repeated reports of loss and death wearied him. He was old, he knew that, but it was times like this, when people around him went away replaced by the new faces, he felt it most keenly. A knock on the door distracted him from his increasingly depressing thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Your Majesty, the Ministrator of Intelligence requested an audience with you."

"Very well, send him in"

Something was wrong. He could tell from the way the man hovered at the doorstep, uncertain. No bearer of good news acted that way-he'd seen enough of them to know. "Well?" He asked.

The ministrator wet his lips and spoke "My king, Castle Coelum has been captured this morning."

"What! How?"

"The Covenant attacked without warning at midnight, Your Majesty." answered the ministrator "They had creeper mercenaries with them, as well as 100 Withers. The gates fell within the hour. "

"What has become of my brother?"

"He escaped with some of the citizens and his royal guard to the stronghold in the Western hills... they found a book in the stronghold and sent it to us. They claimed that the book held importance but it seems that they could not elaborate further. We lost contact twenty minutes after we received it.

The text in the book is heavily damaged, but the scientists are restoring it as we speak."

The king sighed, "What do you have so far?" he asked

"Well..." the ministrator looked troubled. "It doesn't appear to be coded, but it makes no sense whatsoever. We suspect a code of sorts, but none of the coders can solve it"

The king raised his eyebrows, the ministrator of intelligence never said his staff couldn't do something.

"Hmmm" he mused "Well, tell me when you figure something out"

"Of corse, my king" the ministrator gave a bow and left the room.

The king sat on his throne and leafed through the reports. Hmm, the enemy's eastern wing is clearly weak, if we focus out efforts there, we might be able to turn the tide around.

He called his Grand Army Commander. "Gather all the troops you can, and send them to the east wing. We'll turn the tide of this war... In our favor"

-Unknown Location-

The room smelled of death and decay. A small window was set into the wall, but no light came through. A small candle burned, but instead of lighting the place, it seemed to sap the light from the walls, darkening the room.

A quiet voice pierced the silence of the dark room.

"Do you have the results?"

"Yes. The 'virus' is compleat. We have captured a total of 56 outposts, 49 villages, 32 strongholds, and 23 castles from both sides. Yet they are unaware of their loss, and those they did notice, they blamed it on each other. They are in war after all."

"Ahh, the simple mindedness of these Overlanders... The time is close. Prepare to begin the invasion. Use the captured castles and strongholds as a forward base. Leave no survivors."

"As you wish... My_ Lord_"

"hmp" he snorted. He new that his title meant nothing. Unlike those Above-dwellers who seemed to stake so much on honor and chivalry, down here, a single blade slipped through his ribs could end his life, his title and position forfeit to whomever killed him. But as long as he held control, he would see this done.

"And so it begins" He smiled, a smile devoided of warmth

-Stronghold of the Western Hills-

The stronghold was unlike any he had ever seen. ReZyar was the commander of an elite hit squad and was a better thinker than the average zombie, and he was troubled by what he saw. The stronghold was made of obsidian, and set halfway in the hill, there was not a single entrance they could find. In fact Silverfish spies had scouted out the entire stronghold and reported that the stronghold was more of a obsidian box-no exits or entrances, not even ventilation shafts, as a matter of fact.

'No sane creature would make a fort like this, with not even a single crack for air. The most troubling thing was the smell of death... and not a single piece of evidence that someone died. Or that someone was even there, for that matter.'

He wondered if he should wait them out, letting the lack of supplies and (hopefully) air kill them, but he decided that he was late enough as it was, and even if they did die, there was the small problem of checking if they where in fact, dead. Not to mention the possibility of a portal room. While not the safest methods of transport, nether portals were most certainly the fastest and most efficient, provided that the people traveling didn't end up dead. Besides, the Grand Union Knights had rallied in the east, gathering millita and the surviving soldiers, and was attempting –and succeeding- to regaining their lost lands. The eastern wing had been formed in a rush after a successful attack by the Grand Union, and the elite group of iron golems, knights, and mages tore through their ranks.

The General had ordered five platoons of soldiers to help the east wing. His group was the last, and he wished to hurry. His troops were given a deadline of last week to join the eastern flank. In his defence, the message did arrive late, but still.

He had requested 200 zombie units and 10 wither squads. A zombie unit was a group of one zombie pigmen and zombie, and was a highly affective attack unit. A wither squad was considered one of the elite fighting force in all Minecraftia, consisting of one wither, two lightly armored skeleton archers riding the wither, and one wither skeleton juggernaut. Including his own strike force, it was a entire force of 500 men for a fort that could barely hold 200 men. He had to win, or he would be the laughingstock of the entire army. He had to take the stronghold today. And he could. Obviously.

"Soldiers, attack!"

The cry rang in the cool evening air as the soldiers charged towards the stronghold.

The withers fired, explosions rocking the obsidian walls, and as the soldiers reached the stronghold, the force of the explosives blasted the walls open. The soldiers rushed to the breach and jumped in, only to be confronted by emptiness. Unfazed by the unexpected turn of events, the soldiers rushed into the stronghold, As the last of the soldiers charged into the stronghold, a hord of things appeared. They rushed out from the forest, moving faster then anything ReZyar had ever seen, and crashed into the disorganized soldiers before they even noticed their presence.

The soldiers fought like hell, trying in vain to escape the killing ground. The things, shrunken, thin and black, were immensely strong, and they lifted the zombies into the air, tearing them to peaces with their bare hands, crushing and riping any soldier unlucky enough to be near them. But strong as the things were, the ReZyar's strike force was one of the best, and 400 heavily armed zombies were nothing to scoff at. The soldiers managed to escape the stronghold with most of them intact. However, the zombies never had a chance.

The things rushed after them, and although the Wither Squads rained arrows and explosives down on the now exposed beings, they could do little as the things moved with ridiculous speed, dodging almost all projectiles thrown at them, and even those that hit barely seemed to be doing any damage. ReZyar was a skilled commander who knew a lost battle when he saw one. Bitterly, he turned to his lieutenant only to find one of the things gnawing on the lieutenant's bloody corpse. Cursing he swung his sword, slicing the thing's head off.

He turned again to the battlefield, only to find that apart from the withers and a few small groups of soldiers fighting for -and losing- their lives, the entire army was wiped out. Even as he blew his horn, sounding the general withdrawal, the things overwhelmed the soldiers and lunged for the withers. The withers flew into the sky, but not fast enough. The things jumped impossibly high, clambering over each other in their haste. They swarmed the withers, overwhelming the skeletons. They tore into the withers, ripping out chunks of flesh and tearing off bones. One by one, the withers fell, firing as the things clambered over them, clawing and tearing. ReZyar sheathed his sword. "It seems that this is as far as I go" he said to his dead lieutenant the things reached him.

ReZyar turned towards the oncoming hoard, a look of utter contempt on his face. However his expression changed to one of shock as one of the creatures, bigger than the rest, ran at him, a pendant swinging from its neck, a pendant that he recognized. A pendant that belonged to one, rather famous man. A rather famous lord to be precise. "Impossible..." the creature reached him, and everything turned black.

The former lord turned away from the corpse, turning his head to a sound only he could hear. He let out a silent cry and slipped away from the carnage. The creatures followed and the dead went with them. Like the last shadows of night fading in the sunlight, they melted away into the dark. Soon only the scent of death in a empty field and a ruined stronghold gave clue that anything had ever happened.


End file.
